


time trickles down, breathing for two

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Miami, boat!fic, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the boys' sojourn on a yacht in Miami. Because I think we were all a little bit turned on by what happened there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time trickles down, breathing for two

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers:  
> \- This is my first time writing smut, so apologies for any awkwardness or downright impossibilites.  
> \- This hasn't been beta'd, so apologies for any inconsistencies, spelling mistakes, etc.

Harry lay with his head in Louis’ lap, the gentle rocking of the anchored yacht, the tiredness sunk deep in his limbs after a day of swimming and sun, and the soft touch of Louis’ fingers threading through his hair lulling him into the comfortable, lazy limbo between sleep and wakefulness. He almost wanted to purr, just to adequately express his contentedness. He settled for sighing happily instead.

  
“Speak to me, Styles,” Louis whispered from somewhere above Harry’s head. They were sitting together on a couch in the yacht’s living room, having not been ready to surrender the day to sleep just yet when the rest of the boys had gone to bed a while ago. It had been such a good day. They weren’t ready for it to end.

  
“I was just thinking,” said Harry, softly so as not to wake the other boys - he loved them, but right now he just wanted to be with his boy; it was a luxury these days, alone time with Louis - “I know us being together makes this all that much harder on us, but sometimes I really don’t think I could do this without you.”

  
Louis’ fingers tightened in Harry’s hair, then moved to smooth his fringe from his forehead. Louis wasn’t a sentimental one, didn’t often say sentimental things even when he felt them, but Harry knew Louis and he knew that gesture was Louis’ way of saying, “Me too.”

  
The past months had been hard on them - all of them. It may have been hardest on Harry and Louis, separated not just on stage but even in their ‘time off’ when they were separated into different groups on outings as well, forced into posturing as a ladies man (Harry) and a committed boyfriend (Louis), but the tour schedule and the demands of filming for the movie had taken its toll on all of them, the constant invasions of privacy and creations of spectacle and chaos that could have been avoided if it weren’t for management’s desire to get dramatic shots for the film.

  
This day out at sea, with just each other and a few members of the One Direction team that felt like family, was like a haven, the eye of the storm where the winds stop blustering for just long enough for them to catch their breaths, suck in a lungful of fresh air for what felt like the first time in months. It was the first time in a long while that they had been truly alone, truly free from scrutiny, away from fans and camera crews and paps and hovering management teams. And they were together. For people that perform as a group, they were allowed to spend surprisingly little time actually acting like one anymore. It had felt so good today, to kick back and enjoy each other’s company openly and candidly, without having to pretend otherwise or censor themselves for the cameras that were always, always watching. Tomorrow they would have to head back to port, back to the cameras and fans and the next leg of the tour, but for now they were still safely sequestered at sea, in the eye of the storm. And that’s why Harry and Louis were still awake. They didn’t want to sacrifice a minute of this precious time.

  
Louis tugged on Harry’s hair, pulling him out of his sleepy half-slumber. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s go outside where we can talk in proper voices.”

  
“Lou,” Harry whined. “Don’t wanna move.” He buried his face into Louis’ belly, less soft now than it used to be but still Louis and therefore still perfect.

  
“No, c’mon,” Louis said, nudging up with his knees so Harry was forced to sit up. Louis pulled Harry to his feet like a doll and, hands gripping Harry’s waist to steer, walked him out onto the deck.

  
Harry gave a soft sigh as they stepped out onto the yacht’s deck, face tilted up toward the now exposed night sky, glittering with thousands of stars. The night Miami air was balmy, but brisk when the wind blew. The sky was so clear, the night so free from the omnipresent glare of city light this far out at sea, that the stars looked less like connect-the-dot constellations than they did spilled glitter.

  
Leaning against the railing, Louis tugged on one of Harry’s curls to get his attention. The stars were pretty, but Louis wanted to be the one causing Harry to catch his breath, not some stupid clusters of star stuff thousands of miles away. Harry turned to him, eyes hooded with tiredness but a soft smile on his lips. For no reason other than that Harry’s lips looked very inviting right then, that Harry was his boyfriend and he loved him, and that he could, Louis leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Harry’s mouth.

  
“What was that for?” Harry asked when Louis pulled back.

  
Louis shrugged. “Just ‘cause. Do I need a reason to kiss my boyfriend?” he teased.

  
“No,” said Harry, curling his fingers around Louis’ hip and tugging him closer, closing the gap of just a few inches between them. His eyes fell to Louis’ lips, but he made no further move, letting Louis feel the touch of his gaze like a physical thing, the tension of it building until Louis broke and reached for Harry’s neck as leverage to rock up onto his toes and seal their mouths together in a hot, fierce kiss that instantly caused Louis’ temperature to flare to a fever.

Harry let out a groan of half-pleasure, half-frustration and pushed Louis back down onto his heels to break the kiss.

  
“Not here,” he said, voice low and a little ragged. “Someone could wake up, come find us…”

  
“Damn you and your bizarre PDA modesty,” Louis muttered, “it’s not like you’re ever modest about anything else…”

  
Harry chucked once before speaking. “Sorry, Lou,” he said softly, tracing Louis’ bottom lip with his thumb. “It’ just - the paranoia’s hard to let go of. Always feel like someone’s watching, unless we’re locked safely behind closed doors. Even then…”

  
“Yeah,” Louis grunted, frustrated. As much as he wanted to get Harry behind a closed door to finish what Harry wouldn’t let them start on deck, he knew that would end with them tucked up in bed where it would be impossible to resist sleep anymore, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. He needed something to distract himself.

  
“Wait here,” he said, a sudden idea occurring to him. “I’ll be right back.”

  
Harry waited on deck as Louis disappeared back into the dark cabin. He leaned back against the railing and tilted his head again toward the stars, this time letting his eyes fall shut and fancying that he could feel their glow against his skin, warm in the chilly night air.

  
“Haz,” Louis voice cut across the deck as he reemerged, “wake up. No sleeping allowed.”

  
“Not sleeping,” Harry protested. “Just…waiting. For you.” He turned on his most charming smile, teasing. Louis rolled his eyes, joining him again at the railing. He held up a small plastic bag filled with fluffy green stuff.

  
“Wazzat?” Harry asked, even know he knew full well. What he meant was, “What are you proposing?”

  
“The rest of Zayn’s weed, of course,” said Louis, busying himself opening the bag and rolling a joint. When he was finished, deft fingers making it short work, he held it up to Harry, a question in his eyes.

  
Smoking wasn’t usually Harry’s thing, but one look at Louis’ face - eager and expectant - and one thought for their schedule in the days, months, years to come, and he took the joint from Louis’ hand. Louis respected Harry’s decisions to normally turn down opportunities to smoke, never pushed him, but Harry thought he saw a glint of approval alongside the appetite for mischief making Louis’ eyes glitter. Or maybe that was just reflected starlight.

  
Harry placed the joint between his lips and took a long drag. He held it in as long as he could because he knew that’s what you were supposed to do, but the smoke itched in his chest and he soon had to cough it out. While Louis took a turn, he took a couple deep breaths to soothe his lungs before trying again. The second time he was less ambitious and let the smoke out before it could force him to, and that went better.

  
“How do I know if it’s working?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence, stirred only by the inhales and exhales as they shared drags, Louis’ much more practiced, Harry’s punctuated by short coughs.

  
“You’ll know, Hazzabear, you’ll know,” Louis said in his oh-how-the-years-have-wizened-me voice.

  
“Ok,” Harry agreed.

  
The high snuck up on Harry, creeping up from the base of his skull and putting a distance between his consciousness and his senses while at the same time heightening them. He started to feel like he was slipping out of his skin but also, at the same time, becoming more grounded. Being high was a confusing blend of implausible contradictions. He was floating inside of his own body, it felt like.

  
“Lou,” he said, eyes wide as he raised his hand in front of him, intending to touch Louis but getting distracted staring at his hand in fascination. Was that his hand, attached to his body? “I feel…weird.” He looked at Louis, imploring, vulnerable, awed.

  
Louis laughed. “Yeah, Hazzaboo,” he said, “that’s the idea.”

  
Harry nodded agreeably.

  
“Tell me how you’re feeling,” Louis prompted. He was feeling his own high kick in, settling into his bones and giving them a peculiar lightness, as if they were made of sponge.

  
“Do you ever think about…” Harry began, then trailed off.

  
Louis nudged him to bring himself back into Harry’s focus. “Do I ever think about what?”

  
“About…about how we’re all, we’re all, like, made out of the same stuff. Like, us, and…and the water, and the sky - which, by the way, does it always get this dark at night? - and stars, and, like, fish, and even the boat? Like, it feels like we’re so different all the time, so separate or whatever, but we’re not, really, we’re all just the same…You know?” Pot made Harry’s slow speech even slower, so that the words unfurled lazily from his tongue, took their time. By the end of Harry’s monologue, Louis had quite forgotten what the beginning had been about. But that could also have been a side-effect of the pot.

  
Harry blinked slowly, and when his eyes reopened he felt like they’d been closed for a long time. Had he maybe even been asleep? How long had it been since he closed his eyes? Time slid away from him, became meaningless, became at once infinite and instant. He opened his eyes to find Louis’ peering back at him, close clear blue like the water had been during the day and staring unblinking into Harry’s. Louis’ face was so close that Harry couldn’t quite bring it into focus, except the eyes, so that’s what he focused on. His anchors, always his anchors, those eyes. Especially when he wasn’t allowed to reach out to Louis in any other way, there was always this, the meeting of eyes so intent and laden with unspoken communication that it felt like a physical connection, touch when touch was denied them.  
Harry’s skin buzzed, and he wasn’t sure whether it was the weed or Louis. When he lifted his eyes to the sky, the stars started to spin and twirl and tilt like a kaleidoscope, and that made him feel like he was spinning too and that was disorienting, so he looked back at Louis.

  
“Hey, Hazza,” said Louis, lifting a hand to stroke Harry’s cheek with his thumb, “Hazza, baby, do you feel good?”

  
Harry nodded, his lips stretching into a slow, dopey grin, which Louis returned. Harry leaned in close, lips on Louis’ ear. His breath was hot on Louis’ skin as he whispered, “But I could be better,” his voice low and husky. Louis shivered.

  
Then, suddenly, Harry pulled back, giggling. “Know what I mean?” he exclaimed, clearly pleased with himself. “How’s that for a come on, Louis? Do you feel seduced by sexy sexy sex pot Styles?” He winked, then dissolved into laughter. His dorky, barking laugh set Louis off, too, even though he didn’t quite get what was so funny. Louis erupted into laughter, laughing until tears were streaming down his face, laughing until the laughter was almost painful, uncontrollable. Suddenly the force of Harry’s laughter unbalanced him and, already doubled over, sent him staggering clumsily backward until he tripped, falling into his backside before collapsing back onto the deck. Concern quelled Louis’ spasms and he surged forward toward his toppled boyfriend.

  
“Harry, you okay?” Louis asked, leaning over him.

  
Harry was quiet, lying on his back and staring up at the sky like he was trying to regain his balance. Then he sat up on his elbows, looking at Louis though lashes clumped and dark from when his eyes had watered during his giggle fit.

  
“Lou-eee,” he whined, looking more like a vulnerable boy than an international heartthrob, stirring the loins of lovesick young men and women across the globe (Louis included).

  
“What is it, Harry?” said Louis, pretty sure that Harry was fine but also not, quite.

  
“C’mere,” Harry mumbled, still whining. “Come here and kiss me.” He reached up for a fistful of Louis’ baggy tank top and yanked him forward so that Louis fell on top of him. Louis’ body reacted instantly to the collision with Harry’s, skin heating up everywhere in came into contact with Harry’s warmth - which was everywhere. Harry was making grabs for Louis’ face so he could kiss him, but Louis evaded capture while he readjusted himself on top of Harry so that they fit together more comfortably. He slipped one leg between Harry’s so they were slotted together, bodies pressed close from chest to toe, skin separated only by layers of light clothing, and gave a devious shift of his hips that he knew would taunt Harry, who was already riled up. Then he propped himself up so that he was peering down into Harry’s upturned, expectant face.

  
“Now, what was it that you wanted, Styles?” he asked, lips quirking mischievously from his vantage point of power, Harry pinned squarely beneath him.

  
“Kiss me,” Harry repeated, his voice retaining its plaintive note, but coming out more gruffly this time, roughened by arousal and an edge of desperation.

  
“As you wish,” Louis whispered, eyes narrowing in on his prey.

  
Harry turned his lips toward Louis’ descending mouth, but Louis ignored them, passing them by to press his lips against Harry’s neck instead, open-mouthed and hot. Harry let out a moan of protest, sliding his hands into Louis’ hair to try to move Louis face to his to kiss him properly on the mouth, but Louis would not be budged. He sealed his mouth to the sensitive spot on Harry’s neck just under where his jawline reached his earlobe, slipping his tongue between his open lips to taste Harry’s skin. Moving his mouth along Harry’s jaw, Louis left a wet trail behind as he made his way - slowly, tantalizingly - to Harry’s mouth. By the time Louis was kissing up his chin, Harry’s breathing had gone ragged and his tugging on Louis’ hair impatient and insistent.

  
Finally Louis gave in, hovering for a moment over Harry’s mouth and meeting his eyes - cloudy with weed and desire - before lowering his lips to Harry’s. Harry immediately moaned into the kiss, from relief and satisfaction, and the sound went straight to Louis’ crotch, where he was already hardening. He ground his hips down into Harry’s as punishment and was rewarded with another moan. Louis licked Harry’s still closed lips before pushing past them to take possession of his mouth. Harry opened his mouth eagerly under Louis’ invasion, welcoming him into his mouth with a hot press of his tongue against Louis’. It was Louis turn to moan into the kiss. He pulled away just long enough to mutter, “Goddamnit, Styles. Are you _trying_ to be utterly indecent?” and allow Harry to reply, in a deep voice that had lost all whininess, “Is it working?” Louis’ answer to that was to push his tongue back into Harry’s mouth at the same time that he sunk his fingers deep into Harry’s impossible curls, more unruly than ever in the Florida heat.

  
They kissed slowly and deeply and without any purpose other than the pleasure of the present moment for some time, until their lips started to feel swollen. When Louis pulled back, his lips and chin were wet with Harry’s saliva. Harry’s eyes were still closed, he hadn’t yet opened them after the kiss had been broken, and his lips were parted and bright pink, also wet from the passionate sloppiness of their kissing, and his cheeks were flushed. Biting his lip, Louis decided, not for the first time, that Harry was undoubtedly the hottest thing Louis had ever seen.

  
“Haz,” he whispered, throaty and urgent, “I need to suck you off.”

  
Harry’s breath caught. Without opening his eyes, he nodded his assent. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust his voice not to come out broken and wrecked. Then again, it was nothing Louis hadn’t heard before. His cock ached, restrained by the tight jeans he had changed into for the evening after an afternoon spent garbed only in loose fitting white shorts, and gave a throb at Louis’ words. It was all he could do not to come right now, kissed into a blissed-out wreck by Louis be-still-my-heart Tomlinson, Louis’ weight heavy and arousing on top of him. If he actually saw Louis straddling him, their bodies molded indecently together, Louis’ thin lips swollen from Harry’s kisses, his devilish mouth saying things like “I need to suck you off,” the pot heightening everything to an almost painful degree, Harry would be completely gone. So he kept his eyes closed and tried his best not to feel more at once than he could process without going over the edge.  
Harry felt Louis slither down his body, deftly undo his belt buckle, followed by his button and fly. His hands went to the waistband of Harry’s jeans, ready to tug them down, then stilled.

  
“Haz,” Louis whispered. Then, a moment later, when Harry didn’t reply, waiting for Louis to continue on his own, “Harry.”

  
Harry blinked his eyes open and tilted his head toward Louis. He had already turned himself over to feeling; it was hard to surface back to reality, especially when reality was foggier than normal to begin with.

  
“Are you sure this is okay?” Louis asked. “You don’t need…closed doors?”

  
Harry took in Louis’ tightened expression, noted the effort he was clearly going through to hold himself back. “Nah,” he said. Louis fingers danced absently along the edge of his waistband as he waited for Harry’s answer, occasionally slipping off to dip under Harry’s shirt and loop in sloppy circles on his skin. It made Harry a little breathless as he continued, “We’re on the ground, no one will see.”

  
Louis paused for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to question this logic, then suddenly came back to life, pulling Harry’s jeans and pants down to his ankles in one practiced motion. Harry’s cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and Louis looked up at Harry with a smirk that was as smug and devious as it was hungry. His pupils were blown wide and in the dark made his eyes look completely black. He put his face down to Harry’s crotch and slid his cheek along Harry’s length, from base to tip, exhaling hotly against Harry’s skin. Harry stifled a moan, but was unable to suppress a shiver that wracked his body.

  
“Lou…” he murmured, voice shaky, “touch me.”

  
So Louis did. He always was helpless in the face of Harry’s begging. It…did things to him. To his self-control, weak and impulsive to begin with; to his heart, which spluttered into over-eager palpitations; to his cock, of course.

  
Louis wrenched his eyes away from Harry’s flushed, pleading expression and down to his cock, hard, flushed, wet with pre-come that was just begging for Louis to taste. He flicked out his tongue and licked experimentally around the head, lapping up the pre-come that had gathered there. He blew a trail of cool breath on the tip, causing Harry to shudder, before taking the head into his mouth. Harry’s hand twitched by his side, then moved to Louis’ hair where, shaky, it scrabbled for purchase for a couple seconds before getting a grip on Louis’ fine strands. Louis sucked gently, just enough to tease Harry, to make him buck his hips up asking for more. Louis smirked around Harry’s cock. He may be helpless to resist Harry’s begging, but that didn’t mean he was going to play nice. He slid his mouth further down Harry’s length, then back up, lightly grazing his teeth on the sensitive skin in retreat, repeating until Harry’s cock was messy with Louis’ saliva and Harry was writhing and yanking roughly on Louis’ hair. Only then did Louis take him all the way in, swallowing Harry in one swift movement that was Louis’ (not-so) secret weapon and made Harry gasp and arch his back.

  
Peering up through his eyelashes as he pressed the flat of his tongue to the sensitive vein on the underside of Harry’s cock, Louis admired the fruits of his labor - Harry’s head thrown back exposing the erotic sight that were the exposed tendons of his throat, eyes closed, chest rising and falling irregularly as he panted, hair wild and stuck to his forehead by a fine sheen of sweat. The sight caused Louis to groan around Harry filling his mouth and reach for his own crotch, palming it desperately when he realized he was still fully dressed.

  
Louis reached up to take one of Harry’s hands from his hair and squeezed it, a signal that he wanted Harry to look at him. Harry raised his head and slowly lifted his lids to reveal eyes that were hazy and unfocused, irises wide like he’d been locked in the dark. Louis groaned again, the vibrations prompting Harry to buck up into his mouth. Still holding tight to Harry’s hand, Louis used his other to pin Harry down by the hipbone, restraining his body’s instinctive attempts to mouth-fuck Louis. He then took their joined hands and moved them so that they were both gripping the base of Harry’s cock. Harry moaned and his hand tightened on top of Louis’. Louis gave a few slow strokes up and down the base, moving his mouth in tandem, speeding up until Harry emitted a rough, “Lou -“ Knowing he was close, Louis gave their hands a few deft twists to send him over the edge, then slurped at the head as Harry cried out, stiffened, and expelled a warm, sticky stream of come into Louis’ waiting mouth.

  
When he was finished, Louis slid back up Harry’s body until his face hovered just inches above Harry’s. He felt the rapid rise and fall of Harry’s chest against his, hot breath in his face, and took Harry’s cheeks between two fingers, forcing Harry to look into Louis’ eyes as Harry panted, trying to catch his breath. Louis relished this part, loved seeing how undone Harry had come - how undone Louis had made him become - and watching him trying to pull himself back together.

  
“Good?” Louis asked, insouciantly.

  
“Fuck you,” was all Harry said, but he said it kind of breathless and with lips quirked up at the corners, so Louis knew what he really meant was, “Fuck yes.”

  
Harry blinked, then, and his eyes cleared a little bit. Without warning, he pressed a palm flat and provocative against Louis’ crotch, and Louis’ breath caught at the sudden contact. “You’re not finished yet,” said Harry in a rough voice. It was all Louis could do to give his head a small shake. He was achingly hard, a fact that had somehow gone unnoticed - Louis blamed the distancing effect the pot had on the communication between his body and his consciousness - until Harry’s hand made him painfully aware of it.

  
Reaching up to grasp Louis by the neck, Harry pulled him down, close, closer, so that he could whisper into Louis’ ear. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered, in a voice so low and gravelly it was almost a growl. Louis’ eyes shut tight as a groan slipped out of him before he could suppress it.

  
“Fuck, Styles,” he said, sliding his hands into Harry’s hair and gripping tightly, trying to convey to Harry just what he was doing to him.

  
“C’mon,” said Harry, hands moving to fumble with the fly of Louis’ jeans.

  
“Okay, okay,” Louis replied, batting Harry’s hands away. It would be more efficient if he just did it himself. Sitting back, he quickly unbuttoned his jeans and tried to tug them off while keeping his body in as much contact with Harry’s as possible, his movements made clumsy by his haste, while Harry whined beneath him in protest of both the delay and the space between their bodies. He was tugging on Louis’ shirt, and Louis wasn’t sure if it was in effort to pull Louis back down to him or to get Louis to remove it. He wasn’t sure Harry knew, either. So he pulled that off, too, before lowering himself back down to Harry’s chest, feeling the soft cotton of Harry’s shirt against his bare skin.

  
“Hands up,” Louis said, divesting Harry of his top, too, when he complied. Material barriers now gone, Louis ran his hands up and down the smooth skin of Harry’s chest, pausing only to trace circles around Harry’s nipples and dip his thumbs along the protruding curve of Harry’s hipbone, made all the more defined lately by the increasing definition of Harry’s stomach muscles.

  
“Fuck,” Louis muttered, a sudden realization sending a dampening wash of frustration over his arousal. “Lube’s in the room.”

  
In lieu of reply, Harry grabbed Louis’ hand and inserted two of his fingers into his mouth, sucking, sending a shivery jolt straight to Louis’ belly and cock.

  
“You sure?” Louis choked out.

  
Harry nodded, lips hollowing slightly around Louis’ fingers. Louis never failed to be shocked by how sensitive something as innocuous as a fingertip could be, but if he didn’t stop this soon, this whole fucking business was going to be cut prematurely short. Harry had a wicked, wicked mouth.

  
Louis wrenched his fingers from his mouth, trying not to get distracted by the small slurping noise it made when they slipped free of Harry’s lips, or by how a trail of saliva connected his fingers to Harry’s lips only to break as Louis pulled them farther away, landing on Harry’s chin where Louis really, really wanted to lick it off. So he did. And then, when Harry clasped his chin to tilt his face up toward Harry’s lips, he continued licking, straight up into Harry’s mouth. While kissing sloppily, Louis’ fingers travelled downward, downward, grazing along Harry’s cock - perking up again under the attention - and his balls, finding their way to the tight little hole that spasmed when Louis pressed the pad of his finger softly against it, cool from the slick coating of saliva. Harry made a small mewing sound into Louis’ mouth, and that was all the encouragement Louis needed to press down until his finger slipped inside.

  
Harry broke their kiss, eyes falling shut as he tilted his head back so that his neck was arched against the deck. Louis sunk his finger in deeper, going slow as Harry shifted his hips a little, adjusting to the intrusion. A small nod told Louis it was safe to add a second finger. As he did, Harry bit down on his lip, kept biting as Louis began to scissor inside him, and kept biting as Louis added a third finger. Harry bit his lip until he tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. He pulled Louis’ lips to his for a kiss to clean the blood from his lips, then murmured into Louis’ mouth, “I’m ready.”

  
Louis rested his cheek against Harry’s, nodding so Harry felt Louis’ nose rub against his cheek. Louis pressed a kiss to Harry’s neck, right under his jaw, mouthing the sensitive skin there as his fingers withdrew - it was amazing how hollow Harry felt when minutes before the fingers had felt so intrusive, how desperately he yearned to be filled by Louis again - and his hands moved to align himself with Harry’s hole to replace fingers with the full, thick warmth of him.

  
“Spit,” Louis commanded, holding a hand to Harry’s mouth. Harry lifted his head a little off the deck to obey, heart beating fast in anticipation, thudding in his chest, in the base of his belly as Louis stroked the wetness onto his cock, readying himself. Harry fisted his hands into Louis’ hair, holding tight and anchoring himself for the penetration. He felt the head of Louis’ cock brush against him and shuddered, clutching desperately at Louis’ hair. When Louis finally pushed in, Harry’s head fell heavily back down against the deck and his mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Louis paused just barely inside Harry, giving Harry a moment to adjust around his girth. Panting slightly, Harry felt himself spasm a little around Louis, body accommodating him, then gave a short nod when he was ready. Louis pushed in deeper, slowly sinking into Harry, filling him up, and this felt so good, so right. And maybe it was the pot talking or maybe Harry was just a complete sop, but when Louis bottomed out inside him, Harry took Louis’ face between his hands and, staring straight into Louis’ bright, bright eyes, said, “You fill me up so well, baby, in every way.”

  
Louis stared back at him for a beat, expression open, marveling, adoring, then he pulled back slightly, winding up to lurch forward and hit Harry right in the sweet spot that made all soppiness slip from his mind, replaced with a mantra of “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” punctuated only by the odd, “Lou” or “Louis.”

  
Harry’s hands fell from Louis’ face to his shoulders, clutching desperately, nails sinking into Louis’ skin as Louis thrusted into him, the sultry air filled with the slapping sounds of water against boat, of skin against skin, of panting and muttered curses. Harry’s panting became higher pitched, the noises coming in quicker and quicker succession as he careened rapidly toward climax. He could feel Louis’ thrusts stuttering, becoming less controlled, less even, and knew that Lou was close too.

  
“Harry,” Louis said, the word naked and raw, eyes searching out Harry’s as he gave one last shuddery thrust, then came inside Harry, filling Harry up with a hot, wet splurt of come they would have to clean off the deck before they could go to bed. All it took was a couple quick strokes of his own hand on his cock, and Harry was coming, too, come spraying all over their chests and on the deck. Louis collapsed against Harry, burrowing his face into the tangle of curls at Harry’s neck. Harry’s hand came to rest in the dip of the small of Louis back, fingers dipping lazily in and out of the small dimples there. Louis shivered at the touch, and at the chilliness of the nighttime breeze blowing gently across the sheen of sweat cooling on his skin.

  
Harry rolled them over so that they were lying side by side, loving the feel of Louis’ body curling into him, so pliant in his post-climax haze of sleepy contentedness. He brushed Louis’ fringe out of his eyes and leaned in to press light kisses across the skin of Louis’ face, on the slope of his nose and the arch of his eyebrows and the very tips of his thin lips. “Boobear,” he said simply, happily. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the weed buoying him and making his edges feel all blurry in a good way, in a way smudged away flaws and hard-edges and made everything pretty in a softened, soft-lit sort of way. Or maybe it was just the post-coital glow of having sex with the person he loved most in the world. Either way, Harry felt silly and lovey-dovey and light.

  
Louis smiled sweetly at him. “My Haz,” he said. “My pretty baby Hazza.” He leaned forward to rub their noses together in an eskimo kiss.

  
“I love you,” Harry said.

  
“I know,” Louis replied, smirking. But there was a telling softness to his smugness that he couldn’t hide, not in this moment, not right now. “I love you too.”

Later there would be dawn, the return to Miami, the return to the chaos of their every day life. But for now time narrowed down to this moment, this lying together in the balmy night air, alone but for the company of the stars glittering cheekily in the night sky, winking witnesses to the many miracles of life and love on earth below, their distance giving Harry and Louis the anonymity they craved in moments like these, just two boys among millions in love. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: stylinsonshmylinson


End file.
